Rhythm Noir
by Sailor Seraphim
Summary: Day off in the safehouse for Duo and Trowa. But is one of them a traitor? And why are they so protective of their personal belongings?


Rhythm Noir  
A Gundam Wing Fanfic  
By:  
Sailor Seraphim  
  
  
  
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Author's Notes:  
  
I do not own Gundam Wing or any of its related characters. If I did, the series would be chock-full of tasty shounen ai goodness. I also do not own the songs or artists that are alluded to. I do, however own the situations that occur in this fic.   
  
No real spoilers in this fic, which is a first for me. Just a bit of irreverent humor that my Muses so like to inflict upon me.  
  
WARNINGS for language, shounen ai, violence and the threat of violence, temporary bouts of insanity, and... unusual tastes in aural pleasure. Does this count as 2+3?  
  
Enjoy!  
  
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It was a Sunday.  
  
Day of rest.  
  
Well, maybe most people who held nine-to-five jobs got a day of rest, but if you were a terrorist trying to use guerilla tactics to bring down a world power, you took your day off wherever you could get it. At least, that's what Duo Maxwell thought as he collapsed face down on his twin bed. It had been a trying past few days, especially since the American pilot had been back to back missions nonstop for two weeks. When he hadn't had a mission assigned to him, he had thanked Shinigami and the general ineptitude of OZ for the respite. Still, Duo had spent most of the day up to his elbows in grease and grime, making some minor repairs on Deathscythe.  
  
Duo rolled over and tucked his arms under his head. "Those Ozzies are getting better," Duo mused as he stared at the drab ceiling above him. "They can hit the broadside of a barn now."  
  
The braided boy laughed to himself and rolled over again, allowing his torso to dangle off the mattress as he pulled his duffle out from under his bed. "Now where is that damn thing..." Duo muttered to himself as he dug through the worn bag, "I know it's here somewhere... A-HA! You couldn't run from me, you evil machine, you!"  
  
Holding up the battered player triumphantly, Duo dug through the bag again and fished out an equally battered pair of headphones. He quickly assembled the piece of machinery, clipped it to his waist, then dug through his duffle yet again for some programming codes and his personal information hoard. There were still some repairs he needed to make to Deathscythe, mostly in the coding for the stealth systems. The stealth capabilities of Deathscythe were Duo's personal pride and joy... there was nothing like "mysteriously" appearing on a battlefield and kicking a lot of OZ ass. The American tweaked his systems wherever he could, trying to make his aibo more lethal. Hey, they were five against the rest of the world, he needed an advantage somewhere, didn't he?  
  
Speaking of the others, Duo looked across the room at the other bed. It had been untouched, but a drab olive duffle was stored beneath it. It wasn't very often that the Gundam pilots were sheltered in the same place; even as lousy as OZ intelligence was, they'd be able to pinpoint a safehouse simply by the proximity of the attacks that occurred. As Duo flipped through his motley collection of data disks, he thought about his roomie.  
  
Trowa Barton.  
  
Duo hadn't talked to the Latin pilot all day. They had bumped into each other -- literally -- when they had both arrived at the safehouse last night. The accident in the dark had nearly gotten both of them shot, and Duo filed away the fact that Trowa kept his pistol holstered in the back of his pants for further use later. Once the two boys had realized they were on the same side and warily put away their weapons, they had to gather up their stuff again. In the instant that the boys had felt threatened, they had both dropped their bags, causing them to spill across the ground. It was not the best of first meetings for either boy.  
  
"Damn..." Duo said, looking at the disorder his data disks were in, "all my shit got messed up because of him. Damn tall jerk. I tried being nice and offered to cook dinner. He didn't have to be insulted or anything. I bet he couldn't cook like me. So what if the chicken was a little overdone? Hasn't he heard of Cajun style?"  
  
Finally finding the appropriate disk and shoving it into the player, Duo raised the headphones over his ears. His information was classified after all... and if anyone *heard* what he had on *this* particular disk, Duo would have to ensure a painful and bloody death. That, or kill himself. Duo vastly preferred the first option.  
  
"And all that time in the hangar, when we were both fixing our Gundams. I just asked if he had a socket wrench. I didn't ask him to drop his pants and sing an aria. He didn't have to look at me like I was crazy. He's so damn quiet it's unnatural. The boy's got something wrong upstairs, if you ask me. Even Heero was friendlier to me, and I shot him twice! Well, okay, so he stole parts from my Deathscythe, and was a rude and insufferable prick, but at least he TOLD me to shut up instead of just looking at me like I was garbage."  
  
Duo stabbed the button on his player and looked down at his sheaf of programming codes.   
  
"He has pretty eyes though," Duo mused as he waited for the disk to stop whirring around and play. "And his ass looks great in those jeans."  
  
When the disk finally cycled, Duo's violet eyes widened as he realized that this was *definitely* not his data disk. The braided boy continued to listen at the foreign information with a sort of sick fascination. Then he ripped the headphones from his head and quickly ejected the disk, staring at it in horror.  
  
"Shit... shit... I knew it! I knew that Trowa was fucked up in the head! I must've gotten his disk last night on accident, when we dropped our stuff. I can't believe that he'd-- that he would even think of--" Duo paused, shaking his head. If he had *Trowa's* data disk, that meant that Trowa had *his*.   
  
"AAAAAHHHH! FUCK!!!"  
  
Duo leapt off of his bed, scrambling down the stairs and looking for the Latin pilot. Maybe it wasn't too late... maybe Trowa hadn't listened to *his* disk yet. Maybe he wouldn't have to kill his fellow pilot. As Duo swung around a corner and into the hallway to the living room, he nearly slammed into Trowa, who was exiting the living room quickly with a dark expression on his face. Violet eyes leapt down to the red-labeled disk in Trowa's hand, then snapped back up to burn into emerald green.  
  
"TRAITOR!" Duo yelled, pulling out his pistol and training it unerringly between Trowa's eyes. He was not surprised when the Latin pilot mimicked his movements, holding his gun in the one-handed stance that he favored.   
  
"I could say the same of you," Trowa replied coldly.  
  
The two Gundam pilots stood frozen with their weapons pointed at each other, both unyielding on the stances of their dispute. Then the braided boy grinned over the barrel of his pistol, violet eyes gleaming with amusement and a touch of madness in the fading sunlight.  
  
"Well, well... it looks like we're at a quandary." Trowa didn't answer and Duo continued. "This whole... misunderstanding can be easily rectified. I have something you want and you have something I want. The solution is simple."  
  
Emerald green eyes narrowed and Trowa's hand tightened on the red-edged disk in his free hand. It was obvious that Duo had accessed the information on *his* disk. They both knew each other's secrets now, and there was no turning back. Blackmail was an ugly word, but Trowa had been a mercenary... he could deal. "What are your terms?"  
  
Duo removed his left hand from its grip on his weapon. Making sure Trowa could see what he was doing, Duo flicked his wrist and the disk seemed to magically appear in his hand. Trowa's gaze flickered to the disk quickly -- noting the plain green-edged label -- before focusing on Duo again.  
  
"No tricks," Trowa said.  
  
The American pilot smiled. "Of course! I've got secrets I want to protect, too. What say we put the disks on the side table? We'll pass them to each other and then we can go off on our merry ways."  
  
The Latin pilot couldn't find anything untoward with the solution. "Fine," he muttered, slowly laying his disk on the table, but keeping his hand hovering over it and his aim true. Duo made the same gesture, and at an unspoken signal, the two pilots slid the disks across the tabletop. Within seconds the exchange was completed and the pilots cradled the precious commodities carefully.  
  
Duo grinned once more -- the insane light in his eyes gone -- and slipped his red-edged disk into the portable player strapped to his hip and holstered his weapon. "Pleasure doing business with you, Trowa!"  
  
Trowa actually allowed a small smile to grace his features as he securely tucked the green-edged disk away. His gun went back into its holster and Trowa made to leave the room when Duo continued heedlessly, a wicked glint in his eyes.   
  
"I mean, not everyone can be 'living la vida loca' like you."  
  
Trowa arched a brow at Duo's comment. Well, two could play that game. "At least I'm not saying 'oops, I did it again.'"  
  
Duo cackled as he sauntered from the room, throwing a look over his shoulder at the taller boy. "You don't criticize my taste in music, I don't criticize yours, Tro."  
  
The russet-haired pilot smiled as he followed Duo out of the room.   
  
"Ryoukai."  
  
  
  
  
  
-- Owari -- 


End file.
